The Night before Your Birthday
by In a Minute There is Time
Summary: The miller's daughter made a deal. Her first born in exchange for power. This is Rumpelstiltskin taking what's his. Golden Queen.


**Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT etc, etc.**

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**The Night before Your Birthday**

You can never sleep the night before your birthday. Anticipation keeps you tossing and turning most of the night; not the childish anticipation of presents and cakes and parties, you never had that kind of birthday, in this world or the last. The anticipation you feel is waiting for midnight; when he'll break into the house (you've never been able to leave to door or a window open, he doesn't want you to) and make his way to your room.

It started in your world, the night before your sixteenth birthday, you'd had trouble falling asleep even then, but it wasn't because you were excited, you just couldn't get comfortable, the fresh welts on your back making it difficult to find a position to lie in that you wouldn't be in pain.

At midnight, about half an hour after you'd finally managed to nod off, you were awoken by the noiseless presence of a man. He was standing by your window, moonlight illuminating such beautifully blemished skin. He didn't talk, but you knew he meant you no harm, you knew he was here to take away the pain, not give you more.

He hadn't told you his name, nor did you tell him yours; though you had a feeling he already knew it. He simply walked towards your bed, hesitating slightly in askance for permission. You'd subtly shifted onto your side, allowing room for him. He'd pulled the silk covers off of the bed, watching as they pooled to the floor, and lay down beside you, almost-but-not-quite touching you.

The two of you were facing each other; his eyes held yours in a trance as his lips drew in air that you'd just exhaled. Other girls would have screamed when he reached out his hand to gently run his knuckles over your face; you fluttered your eyes closed and bought your hand up to meet his. You weaved your fingers through his, smiling shyly up at him with all the innocence that you lost that night.

You brushed his knuckles against your lips; he smirked and mimicked your actions when you were done. You saw in his eyes that his intentions were anything but pure; he hadn't broken into your home to lay with you. You wondered if you should be scared, but you didn't wonder why you weren't. There was only one thing you were scared of; she wasn't here.

All thoughts of proper reactions left your mind as the man, your hands still intertwined on the pillow between you, gently lay his free hand on your hip. Your eyes were still caught up in his and he smirked at you, tracing circles along the silk of your nightgown, before grazing his hand down your thigh.

You gasped when his bare skin met the heated flesh of your thigh, as the man pulled his hand up, bringing your nightgown up with it, you tightened you gentle grip on his hand. He mistook you actions for nervousness and bought his lips to your forehead. He wasn't saying he'd stop; but he would go as slow as you wanted him to.

But you didn't want him to stop, nor did you want him to go slow, so you placed your hand solidly over his chest, telling him not to worry, feeling the erratic beating of his heart. For a second, you imagined delving your hand into the soft flesh, and taking the organ as yours. The thought was pushed out of your head almost as soon as it entered; the thought of hurting him made you nauseous.

His hand continued its journey, tracing patterns on your flesh, languidly making its way towards your inner thigh. You felt as if you were going to overheat; barely able to keep your eyes open. You needed him to touch you, higher than where he was, but you weren't sure why. You were both breathing heavily, and you trailed the hand on his heart downwards at the same pace he came up.

You faltered when his fingers came into contact with the soft mound of flesh between your thighs, he smirked triumphantly when he found slick heat and you turned your face into your pillow, moaning loudly. He pressed his thumb down on the throbbing flesh above your mound and you clenched your thighs around his hand, you never imagined feeling anything better than that feeling.

With his hand gently cupping you, he used his other to bring your face around to meet his, leaning forward, he gently covered your lips with his; you continued trailing your hand down his abdomen, hesitating when you got to the waistband. He parted your lips gently with his tongue, telling you what to do.

You pushed your hand downwards, feeling soft, heated skin against your hand. You gasped as you came into contact with his desire for you and the sound that came from his mouth made you smirk confidently up at him. You folded your hand around him and squeezed as you bought your lips together again, this time it was you that explored his mouth with your tongue.

As if your boldness let him off the leash, his fingers were inside you, and you were wrong before, this as the nicest feeling you'd ever felt. You buried your face into the crook of his neck as he slowly manoeuvred in and out of you. Sensing his want, you bought your hand up and down, feeling him rock against your hand, you did the same, covering your moan with the soft skin of his shoulder.

He gently kissed your cheek, still rocking his hips and firmly pumping, he trailed quick kisses down your jawline and to your neck, pressing his lips against your quickened pulse. Then he's sucking, harder than necessary but you like it, on your neck and you're not sure why; but you know that this means that you're his. The thought brings a beaming smile to your face and you move your hand a little faster for him.

Then his hand is gone and you groan unappreciatively, he brings your hand away from him and pushes his waistband down just enough to free himself. Your eyes widen and you push yourself up so you're leaning on your hands. He's kneeling on the bed, not even half exposed to you but it doesn't matter.

You crawl the little distance between you and look up at him, asking him what he wants. He trails a slick finger down the side of your face and you know; not taking your eyes off of him you take him into your mouth. You feel him shudder as you move your tongue around him, letting his thoughts guide you.

You feel him rip off your nightgown, and you shiver as the cool air hits your heated skin. He pulls your face upwards, so that you're on your knees, your bare skin pressed against the scratchy clothes he won't be taking off. He kisses you again, forcefully, hungrily, and you reciprocate with just as much vigour.

Then you've been thrown backwards, you're hands are pinned above you and he's between your thighs. He pushes in and the moan that comes from your mouth is sinful. You wrap your legs around him, he starts moving when he feels you've gotten used to him. You don't close your eyes, wanting to see him as he takes you as his own.

You don't try to wriggle your hands free; no matter how much you want to touch him, he brings his chest down against your and kisses you again, you bring your hips up to meet his thrusts and moan into his mouth. He's increasing the pace and you have to close your eyes, bright lights explode in your head and you can't think, you can't breathe, you can do nothing but scream into his shoulder as you unravel, giving yourself to him completely.

You hear the door to your bedroom slam open, he keeps moving, keeping you riding your high for as long as he can. You are vaguely aware of your mother's screaming, but you can't bring yourself to care. He stops, but you can still feel his weight inside you, you open your eyes and you see him, smirking with a childlike glee. He leans forwards to brush your lips, and you know he wants you to look at your mother.

You do; naked on your bed with a man inside you, you look at your mother, standing locked in purple smoke, and you smirk at her as the man trails his tongue along the shell of your ear and whispers to you.

"Until next year, dearie." And then he's gone and your mother can move, and you're still exposed on your bed. You can see the violent anger in your mothers eyes as she moves towards you; you know that this is going to hurt, but you can feel him inside you still, and you know you don't have to be afraid; you're not hers anymore.

You're his.

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You don't hear him come in; you're too wrapped up in the memories of previous years. But you feel him slide into bed next to you, he doesn't bother with words, he's already on top of you and he's got you moaning his name even before he's even touched you.

You want to ask him to stay this time; you've wanted to ask him to stay every time. When he whispers to you when it's over, you want to cling to him. You want to wake up with him still inside you, his arms strong and protective around you. You don't ask though; you never will.

Instead, you revel in his presence now; the fact that he's here. You enjoy the feeling of his clothing against your bare skin, his hands pinning yours above your head. When he's gone you'll curl up on your own, wait for your mother to punish you. You'll let yourself cry for what you'll never have. Because you know that you belong to him; you'll keep belonging to him forever, but he'll never be yours.

That wasn't the deal.


End file.
